


Will I Look Back and Say

by rivers_bend



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-20
Updated: 2010-02-20
Packaged: 2017-10-07 10:11:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/64117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rivers_bend/pseuds/rivers_bend
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean's never been to a college party, but he never imagined they would be like this one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Will I Look Back and Say

**Author's Note:**

> written for [](http://community.livejournal.com/salt_burn_porn/profile)[**salt_burn_porn**](http://community.livejournal.com/salt_burn_porn/) for [](http://poor-choices.livejournal.com/profile)[**poor_choices**](http://poor-choices.livejournal.com/)'s prompt _skinny dipping_.

Dean rolled into town after midnight, got to the bar where Sam was working—cutting up lemons and washing glasses, Dean assumed, unless Sam had kept a fake and they thought he was twenty-one—just in time to see his brother walk out and climb into a Honda idling at the curb. Dean followed. They went through campus and out the other side, up into the hills where the houses were bigger and farther apart.

The Honda turned onto a street packed with cars. Dean noticed the not-a-through-street sign just in time and stayed where he was, watching the car with Sam in it drive slowly to the end before turning around. It stopped in front of a house with four cars parked in the driveway and light spilling onto the front lawn, where Sam and three girls piled out before the driver started up again, presumably to find a place to park. In his rearview mirror Dean saw a parking space three houses back. He reversed and nabbed the space before the Honda could claim it.

With all the cars and the lights, Dean was figuring college party. He was wearing jeans and a t-shirt. They were even clean. He could blend in with college kids. Especially if he left his weapons in the car. He could see the lay of the land. Say _hey_ to his baby brother if Sam looked lonely, leave him to his friends if he was having fun.

Dean could hear the music by the time he was half-way up the block: The Beach Boys harmonizing about good vibrations. Could this get any more cliché? The house he was aiming for was a low ranch-style place with Christmas lights on the eaves even though it was only September. Dean wondered if they were up early or late. But then he saw the front door was open and the house was packed with people and he forgot about the lights. He could definitely get closer, go inside, see Sam without being seen if he was careful.

Just inside the door Dean had to squeeze past a couple trying to suck each other's faces off. He was pretty sure the girl was one of the ones who had arrived with Sam. Unless lime-green tank tops with hot pink cut-offs were some kind of uniform around here. The guy she was with wasn't Sam though, which was all Dean really cared about.

Over the sound of Brian Wilson wailing about being a man, Dean heard someone shout from his right, "Fuck jello shots, where's the tequila?" He turned and headed in that direction.

That led to a living room which opened out to a back yard complete with tiki torches, keg, and swimming pool. Dean didn't spot Sam in the crowd threatening to spill beer on the sofas and the shag carpet inside, so he edged past them through the wide French doors.

Things were much more interesting outside. A girl in a short skirt and a bikini top was eating a jello shot off the stomach of a girl wearing nothing but a pair of underwear. At least Dean assumed they were underwear. Surely a bathing suit wouldn't be designed to show everyone the shape of your wax job when it got wet. It was a nice wax job, though, he had to say. When the kneeling girl finished the jello, instead of standing and letting someone else have a turn as Dean half expected, she started licking and sucking on the reclining girls nipples.

"_Hel_lo," Dean murmured.

And then he jumped when someone kicked his ankle. Hard.

"It's rude to stare," a freckle-faced girl with long dyed-black hair said. She was rather incongruously wearing a Hawaiian shirt. "Contrary to popular belief," she went on before he could speak, "lesbians were not put on this earth for the titillation of straight men."

Dean's dick begged to differ, but the girl was wearing boots with really pointy toes and Dean's ankles begged him to keep his mouth shut so he just muttered an apology and headed over to the keg, trying not to get caught looking as the girl in the skirt climbed up onto nipple-girl's lawn chair and started kissing her. His plans to look elsewhere were thwarted by the line for beer which faced that way so it was hard not to see as she cradled the other girl's head in one hand and used the other to stroke the breast she'd just been licking. To his surprise, no one else seemed to be paying all that much attention to them, even when the girl's hand moved lower and she started tracing the edges of that wax job with her fingertips. As a guy in a speedo handed him a red plastic cup full of beer Dean marveled at a life in which two hot girls making out on a lawn chair was unremarkable.

Checking the crowd again for his brother, Dean circled around the pool to where the lights were dimmer and he could watch from the shadows, back to the trees so no one could sneak up on him. He'd just settled against an oak, a few feet from a clump of students arguing about reverse engineering dinosaurs from DNA who gave Dean enough cover that he didn't totally look like a creepy stalker, when Sam walked out of the house. He was with a tall, black guy with a shaved head—even taller than Sam—and a short blond guy who looked like he thought Eddie Van Halen was the last word in fashion. Who _had_ that much hair in 2003? Seriously. Big-hair had a beer cup in one hand and a jello shot in the other, but Sam and tall-guy were empty handed. Dean figured they'd head for the keg, but instead they turned towards the pool, pulling their shirts off over their heads as they went.

Tall-guy was slender but athlete-level ripped—Dean went for the stereotype and figured him for a basketball player—but that observation only took half a second before Dean's eyes settled on Sam. Sam who was definitely not a kid anymore.

His hipbones still stuck out over the top of his too-loose jeans, but there was muscle under the stretched-taut skin, and his waist was tapered down from shoulders sheathed in more muscle. Dean's dick was just as interested in that as it had been in the lesbian lawn chair action. Dean wondered what goth-girl would have to say about that. And what she'd say if she knew that Sam was his brother.

That despite the fact they share blood Dean had traced the line of those collar bones with his tongue. That he'd streaked those hipbones with his come more times than he could count. That he'd licked and stroked and fucked that tight, pert ass hiding under those jeans. That he'd sucked his brother's cock and swallowed his jizz and kissed him until all trace of Sam's orgasm was licked from his mouth. That once, so desperate for more more more, he'd begged for Sam to fuck his throat until he couldn't breathe, as though sucking your brother's dick in a gas station bathroom while your dad filled the tank right outside wasn't dangerous enough without adding oxygen deprivation to the thrill.

She'd probably blanche under her freckles, call him a sick bastard and report him to whoever girls like that looked to as authorities. She didn't look like the type who'd believe him if he told her Sam was the one brave enough to kiss Dean that first time, that Dean hadn't taken advantage the way she was thinking. But she didn't seem to be outside anymore, so Dean could concentrate on his brother without worrying about being kicked for staring.

Sam and his friend didn't stop with their shirts. They toed off their shoes and then started undoing their jeans. Tall-guy apparently didn't believe in underwear. The beer went sour in Dean's stomach as he imagined Sam and this guy showering together after shooting hoops, soaping each other in teasing strokes the way Sam and Dean used to before Sam got it in his head that he needed a college education. But then tall-guy dove into the pool without waiting for Sam to finish undressing, and headed straight for the four guys standing in the shallow end chatting. He came up behind the one with broad shoulders and spiky black hair, wrapping his hands around the guy's waist and kissing the back of his neck.

This was the strangest party Dean had _ever_ been to.

Dean looked at the guys in the pool then, and realized that none of them was wearing a bathing suit or even a pair of boxer shorts. Apparently Ms. perky nipples in her see-through panties had been overdressed, not under.

When he looked back at Sam, Dean knew he'd see him in his boxer briefs—Sam was always ridiculously modest—but he was stepping out of those too, leaving them piled with the rest of the clothes on the lawn chair by the diving board. His pubic hair wasn't the tangle Dean remembered burying his nose in; Sam was trimming it now. That, or maybe it was the year since Dean had seen it, made Sam's dick look bigger than Dean remembered. His fingers twitched on the plastic cup he'd forgotten he was holding, wanting to wrap around Sam's cock, measure its weight. But Sam was twenty feet away, oblivious to his brother lurking in the shadows.

Once Sam was naked he dove into the pool. Not nearly as gracefully as his friend—maybe the guy was a swimmer, not a ball player—but at an angle that showed Dean the tight curves of his ass and a flash of dick between his thighs so Dean was absolutely not complaining. When Sam surfaced, his hair was seal-slick on his head, running rivulets down his back. One of the guys in the group slapped him on the shoulder in welcome and Sam grinned at him.

It was a happy, care-free smile. The smile of a guy who would strip down to nothing at a party full of people drinking beer and doing jello shots. It wasn't a smile Dean recognized. He shouldn't have come here. Not to this party. Not to Palo Alto. He should leave.

Sam was in profile to the door, but the keg was between the pool and his view of the house, so Dean figured he could slip behind the crowds and make his escape. As he threaded his way between the people desperate to be drunker, Dean heard a human-cannon-ball-sized splash followed by a shriek, and a shout, and then someone calling, "If you jizz in your mom's pool she's gonna kill you, Brett."

Dean turned in time to see Sam's tall friend throw a double handful of water at Van Halen-guy who was treading water in the deep end. Tall guy had pushed his spiky-haired friend against the wall of the pool, and they were close enough that Dean could imagine what they might have been doing that caused the jizz taunt. Just then Sam turned and stared right at Dean. His eyes widened and then narrowed and he wiped them as though he had water in them and then looked again. Dean tried to move, to escape, but he was frozen in place. Sam's lips moved, shaped around Dean's name. That unlocked Dean's legs and he turned and dodged into the house, figuring Sam would never follow him stark naked.

The trouble was, Sam didn't need to follow him very far. The living room had turned into a dance party while Dean was outside and there was no path through all the people. He'd only penetrated one layer when Sam reached over someone's shoulder and grabbed his arm. "Dean!" he said again, shouting this time to be heard over Madonna exhorting everyone to strike a pose. He yanked Dean back towards the patio.

"I just—I'm sorry," Dean said, trying to get his arm free. "I'm leaving." He was glad to see Sam had thrown a towel around his waist, because he was pretty sure he couldn't stand in a crowd like this arguing with a guy whose dick was hanging in the breeze. And the Sam Winchester Dean knew couldn't have done that either.

"What if I don't want you to leave?" Sam asked. Which was not at all what Dean expected.

"I—you. You don't?"

Sam pulled Dean past the keg around to the oak on the far side of the pool. The dinosaur guys were gone, and they had as much privacy as one could get at a party. "No," Sam said. "I don't."

He kept his grip on Dean's arm, but moved his other hand up to caress Dean's neck, trace the line of his jaw. "No one here knows you're my brother. Derek and Brett and the other guys think I have a boyfriend who goes to school in Arizona." He looked at Dean speculatively. "Maybe he came out for a surprise visit." He stared at Dean's mouth while he talked as though he wanted to devour it. Dean was kind of stuck wishing he would, and had trouble following Sam's words.

"You saying I can kiss you?" he asked, only the tiniest corner of his brain worrying about the hundred or so people who might be watching.

Sam slid an arm around Dean's back to pull him close, kissing him instead of answering.

He smelled like chlorine and the scent brought the ridiculousness of this whole situation back to Dean in a rush, but his hands were hungry on Dean's back and his lips were demanding on Dean's mouth, so Dean just couldn't bring himself to care. He let his own hands find Sam's skin, wrap around Sam's ribs, sticking slightly with the water as he tried to feel the new shapes of Sam's muscles. _You've grown_ he wanted to say, but Sam's tongue was in his mouth, Sam's palms were holding his jaw to give him access, making words impossible.

Dean's dick was a hard line against Sam's thigh and he was about to ask if Sam wanted to go back to his room, find a motel somewhere, hell, even just go inside and lock themselves in the bathroom, when Sam pulled him down on the grass. They ended up with Dean on his back, Sam half over him, his towel slipped down so Dean could cup his palm over the top curve of Sam's bare ass.

"I'm not having sex with you in the middle of a frat party, Sam," Dean said as Sam let his lips go long enough to bite at the skin under Dean's ear.

"Not a frat party." Sam slid down so he could suck the knob of Dean's left collar bone.

"Not having sex with you in the middle of a whatever-the-hell party, then. Can't we go somewhere?"

"Mel and Kate were pretty much having sex on a lawn chair earlier." Now Sam's fingers were edging under Dean's waistband, which, though Dean hated to admit it, was making Sam's arguments seem more valid.

Still. "But—" he said. Sam ignored him, undoing the buttons on his jeans.

"It's dark back here. I'm between you and all of them. No one will even notice if I give you a hand job."

"I want—" This time Sam shut him up with another kiss. Dean gave in. He wanted to be naked, to spread his legs and let Sam fuck him, no worries about prying eyes, but his dick wanted Sam's ridiculously large hand wrapped around it, jerking slow and tight just like it was doing.

"After," Sam whispered when Dean arched up into his grip. "After, we can go somewhere. I'll lick you open and fuck you until you don't even know your name. Just let me have this first."

Dean could never say no when his little brother asked for something. If Sam wanted to make him come under a tree while a bunch of college students drank beer and went skinny dipping twenty feet away, Dean would give him that. Which didn't mean that Sam should get away without an orgasm of his own. Dean got his hand down between them, gave Sam something to rub up against, and they kissed and rutted into each other's palms, swallowing the other one's noises as they came.

The post-orgasm buzz of _Oh, fuck, yes_ was interrupted by a piercing whistle, a whoop, and someone shouting, "Go, Winchester!" Dean was torn between wanting to shoot everyone and sink into the ground. Sam just laughed softly and lifted a hand to flip them off.

"Ignore them," he said.

"Yeah. Right." Dean knew this was a terrible idea. "I knew this was a terrible idea."

"It was an awesome idea. Now you won't be fighting a stiffie while you find us a motel room."

"Your friends are laughing at us."

"They're just glad I'm finally getting laid." Sam looked ridiculously smug for someone who just admitted he hadn't gotten laid in a year.

"You haven't—" Dean's skin felt prickly with the thought that Sam hadn't been with anyone since he left.

"I've been busy," Sam said, ducking his head to bite Dean's shoulder. "Besides. You said you'd try to come and visit."

Dean had been pretty sure Sam wanted to not have to think about being a Winchester. He hadn't wanted to be the one to remind him, so he hadn't called, hadn't bothered him. But then Dad sent him to Sacramento to look into a haunting, and he'd been too close to turn back without at least checking that Sam was okay. And here they were.

"And here I am," Dean said.

"And here you are." Sam agreed.


End file.
